Little Joe (No 23)
by L J Groundwater
Summary: Red has cleaned house, and now he's come back to work. The next Blacklister is Down Under, and Red takes Lizzie to outback Australia to neutralize someone he's been after for years. What she doesn't know is why it's so important to him. Set post-Season1, Ep 11 (The Good Samaritan). Please review!
1. Chapter 1

This is the beginning of my first full-length _Blacklist _episode. It might take me a little while to get it all going, but I promised one, and here we go. I don't own anything. I do know a bit about Australia, living here now (in our currently hellish summer) but I don't own a thing. Thanks to the Johns, and the amazing actors on the show, for giving me so much material. Feedback please!

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"Did you bring me anything?"

Raymond Reddington threw his head back and laughed. Then he grew serious. "Yes. The next name on the Blacklist."

Elizabeth Keen tried to keep the lightheartedness going, just for a moment longer. It was rare that she felt so good in his presence. "Really?" she quipped. "Did you gift wrap it?"

For a brief second, she could swear she saw genuine delight in his eyes as he sat on her sofa. Then he announced, "I need to go. I suspect your husband will be back soon, and you have some talking to do."

Liz furrowed her brow in confusion. "But you said he was at the airport—"

"He's not going anywhere," Reddington interrupted, standing up. "He'll be back tonight. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know who you need to deal with next."

Liz stood up, too, for some reason not quite known to her wanting to keep him close by. "But—"

"Lizzie," the former FBI most-wanted said to her, "I've been waiting for this one for a long, long time. It won't hurt to ruminate on it for one more night." He came to face her. "Your husband is coming home," he said in a low voice. "You need to talk."

Liz's eyes rebelled against her and insisted on tearing up again. She opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what was going to come out of her mouth. She swallowed. "Red—"

But Reddington offered that small smile that told her he knew what she was thinking, even though _she_ didn't. "I won't go away again, Lizzie." He reached out and put a reassuring hand on her arm. "I'll be somewhere nearby, and I'll call you tomorrow."

She tried to offer him a brave smile. His own smile got a little wider, and his eyes danced as they teased her. "We need to take a vacation," he declared brightly. "It's been so long since I've been anywhere new."

Her tears receded, and she took in and let out a calming breath as she realized that was exactly the intention of his change of subject. "So you're taking me on a trip?" she asked.

"We all need to get away sometimes," he said.

Finally, she forced herself to say out loud what had been bouncing around in her mind for weeks. "Red," she said, "you saved my life."

He lips curled up ever-so slightly, his eyes looking straight into hers. "Yes."

"At the post office, you traded your life for mine," she said. Even as the words spilled out, she berated herself for saying them. Did she think he didn't realize it?

Reddington nodded once, the smile disappeared. "Yes."

She wasn't ready to let go yet. She knew that she was changing the game, that she was looking at him with different eyes, hearing him with different ears. Her very sketchy, and clearly incorrect, original profile of Red, had transformed in the past three weeks that he'd been away. She had been so sure that she knew who he was, and what drove him, but she was sure now that she had been wrong, and she needed answers. She searched his face, but found none of them. "Why?" she asked finally, in a small voice.

Red stared back at her, his expression unchanging. After what seemed like hours but what she was certain was only a few seconds, he replied, "Because of your father." She felt the tears coming again but forced them away. "Your husband is coming home now, Lizzie. Talk to him. But be careful. I don't want my gallant gesture to be wasted."

Then without another word, he walked past her, and out the door.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Liz spent an hour being raked over the coals by FBI Director Harold Cooper in the morning. She'd gone in to work after a long and primarily sleepless night after Tom came home as Red had predicted, and they had talked, and argued, and then talked some more, until finally coming to an uneasy truce. At least Tom had admitted that trying to make her leave her job by moving to another state was a bad idea. And they'd settled in for the night… or what was left of it.

But then she'd come in to work and told Cooper that Red had made contact. And Cooper had flown off the handle because he hadn't been told immediately—and then informed her that he knew Red had called her while she was working on the Good Samaritan killer case, but that she had not followed orders by reporting it right away. She tried to explain that she had been preoccupied with catching the killer, and had then simply forgotten about reporting the source of her brainstorm about the injuries of the victims, but neither of them really believed that, and all that did was leave Lizzie wondering who had told him: Meera, or Ressler.

Then she countered with the final result of Reddington's visit to her place last night: he was back where he started, trusting no one at the FBI, and speaking only to her, on his own terms, in his own way. And no, she didn't know where he was right now, but he had the next name on the Blacklist, and if nothing else, they could always depend on him being right and stopping some horrific criminal, so it was in the FBI's best interest to let him continue this way, even though Cooper didn't like it.

Cooper agreed, and though he still threatened her with formal censure over her failure to follow orders, he didn't follow through. "Wait for Reddington's next contact," he told her. "And I expect you to tell me what he says."

Liz nodded, sighed in resignation, and went back to her desk, where she was still licking her wounds when her cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the number, but still had a tiny unexpected thrill of hope, and picked up. "Keen."

"Lizzie, get your passport. The next Blacklister is in Australia."

"Red?"

"It's summer down there, Lizzie. You'll need to pack accordingly. We'll buy you sunscreen and a big floppy hat when we get there."

"Red, what's going on? Who's in Australia?"

"Little Joe."

"As in…?"

"He was obviously was a big television western fan at some point. An American, but living Down Under now. He has a farm called the Ponderosa in Queensland."

"A farm?"

"Lizzie. Pull up all the unresolved missing child cases for the last twenty years. You're going to need to bring them with you."

"To Australia?"

"Dembe will meet you in three hours at your home. Be ready, Lizzie."

"Red, I'll have to—"

"Bring only the essentials. The stores in Australia will supply most of what we need. And they have some wonderful beaches there, where there's white sand that goes on for miles. The women go topless at some of them, so you won't even need to worry about fitting into a bikini."

"Don't even think about it."

"Be ready for Dembe in three hours."

He hung up. Lizzie pulled the phone away from her ear, looked at it as though it might tell give her the answers she was clearly not going to get from Reddington until they were already on their way, and sighed for the twelfth time that day. Then she headed back to Cooper's office to tell him where she was going to be… though she could only guess why.


	2. Chapter 2

I still own nothing… This is still in transition—they will get into the action in the next chapter. But you need to understand what's going on before we get there! Please let me know what you think. Thanks so much for all the follows, faves and the comments are the best!

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"He's going to be snide and condescending the whole time," Donald Ressler predicted as he walked into Liz's apartment.

"Actually, he said he'd find a use for you," Liz replied, directing him to the living room, where he put down his suitcase. "After he stopped laughing."

"That's not a good sign," Agent Ressler said. He shook his head. "It's not _my_ fault Cooper insisted that someone go with you. Why couldn't he have picked Meera?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to go to the sunburnt country?" Liz asked with a smile. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so good. Telling her husband that she was off to the other end of the world had been surprisingly easy, something Liz attributed to her need to get away from that uncertain part of her life for the moment, while she focused on the new way she saw Raymond Reddington. She couldn't share this with Ressler, but her view of Reddington had evolved after the Anslo Garrick horror. He was more than just a criminal now, more than just a traitor to his country. He was a three-dimensional human, with weaknesses, with vulnerabilities. Now, she saw the suits he almost always wore for what they were: armor. A reminder to himself that he needed to stay detached. The arrogance Ressler was referring to was just another layer of that armor. Red could be hurt, very, very deeply hurt, and felt he had to protect his heart. If he didn't, he could get drawn into places even more dangerous than the ones he had emerged from only a few months ago when he turned himself in to the FBI. If he didn't, he could find himself revealing his heart. And that was something that Liz was absolutely certain Red was frightened of doing. It was something Liz had not considered in her initial assessment of Reddington. But now that she had worked with him for a few months, she was sure that fear of vulnerability drove him as much as revenge, as much as whatever it was that had brought him back.

"It's on my bucket list," Ressler said, jolting Liz out of her inner thoughts. "But going there with Reddington isn't exactly my ideal way of making that one a reality."

"I'm sure he'll make it memorable," Liz offered, closing the door.

"So what has Reddington told you about this 'Little Joe'? Why are we going to Australia?"

"I don't know much yet," Liz admitted. "Reddington's been after Little Joe for years. He got his name because of the farm he runs down in Australia called The Ponderosa—you know, like from the television western _Bonanza._ Apparently he is—or at least _was_—pretty young and good looking, and charming, much like the television character."

"And what does this guy do that annoys Reddington so much?"

"I'm not sure; all I know is he told me to bring all the unresolved cases involving missing children that the Bureau has been made aware of in the last twenty years."

"What's the connection?"

"I don't know," Liz said, shaking her head. "You know Reddington only tells us what he wants us to know, when he wants us to know it."

"And apparently, this isn't that time."

"No." Liz looked out the window as she heard a car pulling up. "That's Dembe," she said. "Time to go."

She picked up her suitcase and grabbed her pocketbook. Ressler grabbed his case, but stopped and asked, "Are you all right doing this, Liz?"

Liz turned to him, the question in her eyes. "What?"

"I mean—after everything that happened with Garrick—"

"I'm fine, Donald," she replied crisply. "I should be asking that question of _you. _Your leg isn't completely healed yet."

"Hey, I can do anything _you_ can do," Ressler insisted. "I'm not using a walking stick any more, I'm doing just fine, thank you."

Liz held up a hand in resignation. "I'm fine with it," she said. "I'm just thinking that if you want to get out of this with Reddington, then that's the way to do it. You'll only have that excuse to use for so long."

"I don't _want_ to use it as an excuse. I'm going to keep Reddington in my sights, even if I have to travel half way around the world to do it."

Liz offered him a shrug and a smile. "Well, you'll have to." She opened the front door. "Let's go."

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"You need to make sure you keep drinking, Lizzie. This is a long trip and it's important that you stay hydrated."

Liz contemplated that a month ago she would have found that kind of solicitousness irritating and condescending, but now, she found it almost endearing. She looked at him sitting there in his dress shirt and vest, without his suit jacket, and offered him a small smile. "I'm fine, Red."

Reddington glanced outside the window beside him and took note of the small clouds passing beneath them, then looked back at the young woman sitting across from him. "Da Vinci would have found that smile worth painting, Lizzie. I always wondered what was on Lisa Gherardini's mind when that famous expression appeared on her face. What's on yours?"

Startled at being caught reflecting as she was, Liz dropped her smile and shook her head. "Nothing. Tell me about Little Joe."

"Yeah, what's with this guy?" Ressler interjected. He had been sitting nearby, determined, Liz concluded, to be miserable this entire trip. He'd been slouched in his seat and staring out the opposite window for the last twenty minutes, a scowl on his face. Liz couldn't figure out if it was because he had other things on his mind, or because he hated how civil and solicitous Red was being to both of them. "What's he doing in Australia? Did you put him there?"

Red shook his head. "Think what you want of me, Donald; there are many things I have done that I'm sure you despise. But there are some people even _I_ won't help. Little Joe is one of them."

Liz and Ressler exchanged uncomfortable glances at the pronouncement but said nothing.

"I've been looking for Joseph Artois for a long, long time," Red continued, ignoring the silence. "He approached me several years ago through a third party and I told him to get lost. Apparently, he did, because it wasn't until last week that I was able to pick up his trail again. So when I came back to you, Lizzie, I wanted to make him first on the list."

"What did he do?" Ressler asked.

"It's what _does _he do, Donald," Reddington corrected. "He hasn't given up his work; he's just moved it to a new location." Ressler shrugged, irritated. "Artois is a photographer and videographer. He makes private films for people with very high budgets."

"So he's a film-maker. What's… that got to do with us?" Liz asked, although she was getting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at what she suspected was the answer.

"The subjects of his films are children, Lizzie. Not just any children; children who have been chosen by his 'casting director' and brought to him to become one of his stable of superstars." Ressler frowned; Liz leaned in closer as Red's voice dropped. "These children have been taken from their families. From their schools, from their homes, on their way home from the playground. People have been looking for these children for years. Artois heads a network of people in the same business. He keeps some children for himself, and farms the others out to the members of his network, who give him a percentage of everything they earn. He keeps a very close eye on the books. No one gets away without paying him his due."

Ressler looked sick. "Are you saying that Artois is responsible for all the—"

"No, of course not," Reddington answered, sitting back in his seat. "That's why I've told you to bring _all_ the unresolved cases. We don't know who we're going to find there, and we need to be able to identify them. In the United States alone, there are 10,000 children reported missing every year—most are nothing—miscommunication, child has wandered off from an agreed meeting place, something like that. Only about a hundred of the cases are like the ones you see on the news—abduction by a stranger. And even half of them make it home. But it's the other half…" Red's eyes darkened. "The other half…"

Red's voice trailed off and he turned to look out the window again. His eyes seemed to focus on something far below. Liz felt a sadness emanating from him that before a month ago she never would have thought possible. Or was she putting that onto him? Wishing he would be what she thought he was—a dark knight with a heart of gold?

"The other half?" she prompted gently.

"About twenty of them will be killed," Red answered, still looking out the window. "And the other thirty… are most likely with people like Artois."

Liz closed her eyes. The thought, the knowledge, made her sick.

"He'll be able to lead us to the network," Ressler said.

"He will," Red answered, still looking out. "And you'll most likely find not only children from your missing person's list… but from other countries' lists as well. It's a very prosperous business, preying on defenseless children." He turned and looked directly at Liz. "I never made money from that. And I won't allow it."

Liz got the message. _This is who I am._ She accepted the offered revelation with a small nod. "So we go to Australia," she concluded.

Red smiled, done with his darkness for now. "So we go to Australia. The lucky country."

"It won't be so lucky for Artois," Liz quipped.

"Indeed it won't," Red replied. Then just a shade of the darkness returned. "But for the children whose lives he's destroyed… it could be the luckiest place on earth, once we've turned up."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay. Lots going on in life… here we go… as usual, of course, I own nothin'.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Reddington smiled and tilted his head as he watched Ressler exit the men's room in the little rustic truck stop they had pulled over at on their way out to the Artois's compound. "It never ceases to amaze me, Donald. No matter what the circumstances, your hair never seems to struggle."

Ressler rolled his eyes and looked around at the rough wooden décor, the picnic table-like settings, the counter holding the cash register that offered Australiana souvenirs like leather kangaroo scrotum pouches and mini boomerang key rings. "I don't really notice it," he said pointedly.

Red nodded. "My hair was unruly," he shared. Ressler exchanged looks with Liz as he sat down, glancing at Reddington's shaved head. "Humidity was always unfriendly to me. So I shaved it off. No humidity here, though; I wouldn't have that problem now. A shame. I won't have time to let it grow out before we're gone. But for you, Donald, it means you'll have one less thing to distract you from the job at hand."

"I told you, I don't really notice it," Ressler said a little more forcefully.

"Okay," Reddington replied cheerfully, his overly bright tone telling both Ressler and Liz that he didn't believe it.

Liz changed the subject. "So, what's the scenario? You said you'd explain it when we stopped. What's going on?"

Red nodded, and his voice dropped. "When Artois asked me to help him, I told him I was too busy with another deal. It was true. What I _didn't_ tell him was that I could have made time but I chose not to because I despised what he stood for."

"So?" Ressler asked.

"Artois doesn't have any reason to believe I'm not willing to go along with what he does, just that my time was too valuable to spend on him when he wanted my services. So here's what's going to happen. The two of you are going to go on now to the farm. You've been booked in for a two-week stay as a nice young couple. You'll tell him you're considering setting up shop yourself in the business. But further west, so he doesn't feel threatened. This way you'll have an excuse to access some of the more out-of-the-way places on the farm. In the meantime I'll come in and talk to Artois about joining him in his less public business." Red stood, folding his suit jacket over his arm. Then he picked his fedora up off the table and put it on his head.

Liz shook her head, trying to understand. "Wait—_we'll_ go on now? How are _you_ going to get there? This place is in the middle of nowhere."

"I have other arrangements," Reddington answered. A small smile touched his lips as the loud whirring noise of an aircraft reached them inside the café.

Dembe appeared as if from nowhere. "It's ready, Raymond."

"Very good," Reddington answered. "Is the car all gassed up and GPS still on target?"

Dembe nodded. "Yes."

Red's smile widened. "Excellent," he said. "Give Mr. Conway the keys, Dembe. I'm sure he and his wife will want to be on their way soon."

"Mr. Conway?" Ressler echoed as Dembe dropped the keys on the table.

"It's been lovely to meet you, sir," Reddington farewelled. He nodded at Liz. "Mrs. Conway, a pleasure as always."

Liz's jaw remained slack as Reddington turned to leave. "Red—wait—_wait!"_ Reddington's departure through the back door spurred her into action, and she and Ressler followed quickly. When they got outside they saw him boarding a small plane, its engines still running.

"Red!" she called over the engines. He didn't turn around "Red!" Liz called again. She waved her arms above her head, trying to get his attention.

It was Dembe, waiting for his employer to board first, who saw her. He put his hand on Red's shoulder to get his attention. Red turned and listened, then looked at Liz waving. He smiled as though pleased, and came back to her.

"What is it, Lizzie?" he asked over the noise.

"How will we contact you? We aren't supposed to know each other!"

"Don't worry about that. I'll be there. Artois runs his little bed and breakfast like a family house. I'll see you."

"What about the farm? What does Artois raise?" Ressler put in.

Red offered them an amused smile. "Emus."

Then he turned and walked away.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"Birds. The guy raises birds," Ressler complained as they drove along. "Reddington brings us out into the middle of nowhere, drops us here, and then tells us we're a married couple looking to raise _birds."_

Liz held up the folder that had been left for them in the car. "At least he's given us some background," she said. She looked ahead at the long, straight, lonely road ahead of them. Red dirt, no houses, no other cars. Extra fuel in a second tank in the back, just in case, apparently. "I had no idea people could make a living from emus."

"They're _big," _Ressler reminded her. "And I think they're mean."

"They couldn't be _mean,_ or no one would be able to get near them," Liz countered.

Ressler shook his head. "Why the hell are we talking about this? What the hell is Artois doing raising emus if he's so busy doing what Reddington says he's doing?"

"Ever hear of a cover?" Liz retorted. Ressler shot her a sideways look then looked back at the road. "Having the farm gives him access to international tourists. _Families,"_ Liz stressed. "He stays away from the general population while still looking like a regular member of society."

"Raising _birds?"_

"This is Australia, Ressler; they're going to raise whatever works down here. According to the portfolio Red left us, emus are good for lots of things."

"Barbecuing, maybe?" Ressler asked sardonically.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "Actually, yes. The meat is apparently very low fat and very high iron. But emus are also good for therapeutic oils, cosmetics, leather goods, even carved eggs… the list goes on."

"I don't need to hear it."

"Stop being so contrary," Liz admonished him. "You're just not happy that Reddington took a plane and you're stuck driving in the heat. At least the air conditioner works."

"So it's eighty degrees in the car instead of a hundred. This place is _hot._ Who'd have thought it, in February?"

"It's summer here, remember? The seasons are reversed."

"We should have come out here in June."

"Reddington said he's been after this guy for a long time—and I'm guessing it was safer for him to stay out of the country for awhile after what happened with Garrick."

"I thought you said he cleaned house."

"He did. But _our_ house probably isn't spotless… not yet. I don't blame him for wanting to get away."

"Do you really think he came down here because he's afraid to stay in the US? I don't get the impression that guy's afraid of anything."

"Not afraid… just cautious," Liz answered. Then she added thoughtfully, "And angry. Someone betrayed him, Ressler. And betrayed us."

Ressler looked at her and nodded agreement, then turned back to the road. Something on the edge of his line of vision made him swerve. _"Shi—!"_

The car jerked to the left as Ressler slammed on the brakes. Liz grabbed onto her seat as the file went flying to the floor. The car stopped, and Ressler put his hand up to his face, calming himself.

"What was that?" Liz asked breathlessly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Ressler answered, his voice shaking slightly. "I just saw—" He looked out the front windshield, now that the car was turned sideways on the road. He pointed out in front of them. "It was a kangaroo."

"What?" Liz's eyes followed the path of Ressler's finger, and she saw a large, red animal hopping quickly away. "A kanga—"

"A kangaroo," Ressler repeated. "I didn't even see it coming. It was like it materialized out of thin air."

"Did we hit it?" Liz asked.

"I don't think so," Ressler said. "I'd better check for damage, though, just in case." He put the car in park, then unstrapped his seatbelt and got out. "Damn," Liz heard from the inside.

"What is it?" she called.

"Flat tire. The damn rim is bent. I'm going to have to change it."

Liz stepped out, too. "I can help."

"Forget it. Just get the tire out of the trunk. This is the last thing I want in this heat. I bet Reddington's laughing his ass off in that cushy little plane."

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Reddington left Dembe waiting just outside the farmhouse, taking note of the "EMUS STAY FREE—HUMANS PAY" sign as he entered and looked around the small front room that had been fashioned into a country-style reception desk of sorts. Taking his hat off but leaving his sunglasses on, he nodded with something like satisfaction at the blue and white café curtains blowing gently in the breeze of a single standing fan; the native wattles and ferns plucked from some nearby garden and jammed into a small vase on the table; the sweating jug of water on the desk with upturned cups beside it with a scribbled note that read, "Drink as you need but don't waste. DROUGHT!"

He waited for a few seconds more, then a man somewhat older than Reddington himself and dressed in dusty work clothes came out to the desk to greet him. "G'day," he said to Red gruffly, but with a smile. "Sorry for the wait; I was tied up in the back. What can I do for ye?"

Red offered a closed-mouth smile and nodded just slightly. "Joseph Artois," he greeted. "You've gotten older."

The man tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"Only by reputation," Reddington replied. "I need to speak with you alone about some business matters."

"You want to buy me out?" Artois asked, his voice and demeanor untrusting. "I already told your type I don't want any part of it."

"I don't want to buy you out," Reddington answered. "I want to buy _in_. My name is Raymond Reddington."

"Raymond Red—?" The man stopped, looked more closely. "My God," he breathed. "It really _is_ you. I never thought I'd see your face in these parts. What the hell you doing down here?"

"I told you—I want in."

"In _what?_ Emu farming?"

Red shook his head and laughed softly. "Come on, now, Joseph. You and I both know you run a very profitable business that has nothing to do with these birds. I want in, and I want you to _get_ me in."

Artois nodded slowly. "Why should I help you, Red? You said you were too busy for me. Now maybe _I'm_ too busy for _you."_

"Now, don't be like that, Joseph," Red chided gently. "You approached me with a business proposition, expecting me to do a perfect job. I didn't have the time to do it right, and I wasn't about to ruin my reputation by being greedy and taking on too much. I passed you on to someone else and whatever they did got you here—and hid you for a long time. I considered that a favor, Joseph. Now I find myself in need, and you in a position to repay that favor. Doesn't that sound reasonable?"

"It would be," Artois agreed, reaching down under the desk. Within seconds he had a pistol in his hand, cocked and aiming straight toward Reddington's chest. "If I believed you. But since I don't, I'm afraid you traveled all the way down here, just to die."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it's been so long. The one-shots hit me and then life went mad! Here's chapter four… please tell me what you think! As usual, I don't own a darn thing…

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Red smiled, a tolerant, gentle smile, and chuckled softly. "Joseph, you haven't changed a bit. Still the same reckless man whose temper forced you into hiding in the first place." Artois tensed but didn't move. "Put that thing down, before you hurt yourself."

"I'm not a fool, Reddington," Artois snarled.

"We'll make that decision later," Red replied pleasantly. "For now, Joseph, I suggest that you lower your weapon and listen to my proposal. I came a long way to talk to you, and my colleague Dembe is waiting just outside. He's a quiet man, but he can be unpleasant when provoked. Perhaps it's telling that the sight of a gun pointed in my direction doesn't provoke him, but one word from me and he'll snap you in half like a dry twig. Now I'm here to take up business with you, Joseph, and the least you can do is listen politely without threatening to make a mess of my very expensive tailored suit."

At this, Artois sighed and put the gun back under the desk. "Say your piece," he said with a nod. "Then we'll talk."

Reddington nodded, satisfied. "You've picked up a bit of a_ twang_, Joseph. You've been in Australia a long time."

"Nine years," Artois growled. "No thanks to you. _Mate."_

Reddington laughed, then he face grew serious. "You're not as anonymous as you'd like to think, Joseph. The person who made you disappear did an _excellent _job; I know, because I sent you to him. But since you've been here you've gotten careless. Sloppy." He shook his head, as though disappointed. "Greed does that. And you're _nothing_ if not greedy, Joseph. But that means that you've put yourself in a position of having to depend on some apparently quite unreliable people. I happen to be in a position to help you with that—for a price."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Artois said.

Reddington smiled, mildly amused at the weak, transparent attempt to put on a nonchalant face. "I know what you do, Joseph. And I know how you do it. And lately you've been getting very ambitious. So ambitious, in fact, that you've cast your net farther and wider than you have before, using people who perhaps you haven't vetted as thoroughly as you should have. That's made it possible to find you, and to let slip a bit of your operation. I'm not on the good side of the law, as you know, Joseph. But my contacts say the FBI is getting wise to you. And that's saying something, considering they didn't even know you _existed_ when you came to see me."

Artois's expression changed to a mix of uncertainty and concern as Reddington continued. "You can see where this gives me the upper hand. I don't think you have the capacity to manage this expansion on your own. You need someone to take control."

"And that person would be _you,"_ Artois supplied, deadpan.

"It would," Reddington replied. "I'm willing to put up five million dollars to get in on the deal. But you have to give me full access to the operation and a forty percent cut of every transaction that comes through."

At this, Artois barked out a laugh. _"Forty percent!_ What for? If I'm expanding the business, it's to make more money for _myself,_ not for _you!"_

"At the risk of being considered blunt, let me tell you straight out: someone is selling you out. So far it's been mainly inconsequential information—a little leak here, a little tip there… nothing terribly damaging. But the puncture is real and it's getting bigger. And if you don't find out who it is, and fast, you're closed for business and the person who created the leak takes over while you rot in jail for the rest of your life. And when word of the _nature _of your business reaches the other inmates—well, I'm sure you're aware that there are certain crimes that even convicted murderers aren't fond of. And with your pretty face… Let's just say you're probably better on the _outside _trying to fend off the debt collectors, who I believe are after you because you're in debt up to your _neck_ due to your designer drug habit and your penchant for large, flightless birds. Am I right, Joseph?"

Artois just stared back at Reddington, his breathing heavy, his eyes angry and dangerous.

"I said _am I right,_ Joseph."

Artois stewed. "What's in it for you? Why do you want to help _me?"_

Reddington laughed heartily. "I don't want to _help_ you, Joseph," he said finally; "I'm in the business of making money. And your particular situation at this time provides me with a _perfect_ opportunity to do that."

Another tense moment and Artois blinked. "All right," he agreed finally. "But not forty percent. God, Red, _forty?_ I'll give you thirty."

"Thirty-five. It gets hot down here and I'll want to order some new suits."

"Fine."

Artois came around the desk and held out his hand. Red ignored it. "We're both men of our word, Joseph," he said. "I promise you I'll clean up your operation. Set me up in a room here, and I'll start to settle right in."

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Reddington looked up from the South Australian white wine he was enjoying all alone in the small dining room when he heard patrons being greeted at the entrance. "Welcome to the Ponderosa!" the hostess declared. "We're all one big family here, feel free to ask for anything at all."

Reddington smiled as he looked up and saw that the newcomers were Agents Keen and Ressler, looking very much the worn out couple trying to settle in. "As you would have been told, we're quite intimate here," said the hostess. "We all eat together! But as you've arrived a bit past our peak meal time you'll have the room almost to yourselves."

"_I_ wouldn't mind the company," Red declared. The hostess, Keen and Ressler looked over to the table, where Red was raising his glass. "I'm afraid I'm guilty of being late tonight, too, and now I don't have _anyone _to share this beautiful evening with. I promise I'll be gone in ten minutes, but I'd _love_ to have someone to chat with now. It was a long trip out here all alone."

A small smile touched Liz's lips as her eyes met Reddington's. "Why not?" she agreed, looking up like a loving wife to Ressler. Red nodded slightly in approval. "It'd be nice to hear a voice other than our own after all that driving," she said.

"That sounds fine," Ressler said, less enthusiastically.

The hostess led the pair to the table, where Reddington stood up. "Raymond Reddington," he greeted. "Travel writer. What about you folks?"

Ressler shook the hand Reddington offered and threw a sideways glance at Liz. "Donald and Elizabeth Conway. Second honeymoon."

Reddington smiled pleasantly and nodded. "Terrific!" he approved. He turned to the hostess. "Amanda, please ask the waitress to bring this lovely couple of a bottle of your finest wine with my compliments. Marital bliss is so _rare_ these days."

Amanda accepted the task happily and departed. Reddington took a sip from his glass. "I expected you earlier," he said. Then he added with a small smile, "Donald, I'm impressed. Your hair looks positively _mussed."_

Shooting Liz an "I told you he would be like this" look, Ressler replied curtly, "We had to stop on the way here. We almost hit a kangaroo and the tire rim got bent when we swerved to avoid it. We had to change it out in the middle of nowhere."

Reddington nodded agreeably. "Well, there are more than twenty million kangaroos in Queensland alone; you were bound to come across one some time."

Ressler looked annoyed but had nothing to say. Liz jumped in to change the conversation. "What have you found out so far?" she asked.

"Artois is definitely still in the business," Red said. "We had a nice talk, and we've agreed that I'll have full access to his operation—all the transactions will go through me. I'm going to start looking at the books tomorrow; that should give me a basic idea of where he operation spreads and how many people are involved."

"You got him to agree to that already?" Ressler asked in disbelief.

"I can be _charming, _Donald. I don't understand why you haven't fallen under my spell. Now, do you have your cover stories absolutely perfect?"

Liz answered, "Donald and Elizabeth Conway from Arlington, Virginia. One daughter, Hannah, age six. Here on a second honeymoon. Want to get out of the city—she's a librarian; he's an accountant for a big law firm. Looking to move out to Wisconsin and raise emus. Donald's parents live there. Hannah is staying with them while we look into things."

Reddington nodded. "And the photos of Hannah?"

"In our wallets. Taken two months ago at school."

"With the name of the school emblazoned proudly in the background." Reddington nodded, and greeted the waitress happily as she appeared with a bottle and two glasses. "Ah! Just in time," he said, thumping his chest over his heart as she poured it out. "Young love—it always gets me right here." He raised an eyebrow as he saw Artois come up behind her.

"Amanda tells me you are on your second honeymoon," he greeted. "I am Joseph Artois, I'm the owner of this place. Please, let me to congratulate you."

Donald stood up. "Donald Conway," he said, extending his hand. "My wife, Elizabeth."

Artois nodded. "Elizabeth. "

"It's our eighth anniversary," Donald said. "Not usually one of the big ones to celebrate, but we needed a break."

Reddington stood up. "I'm turning in now. Thank you _so_ much for telling me about your daughter Hannah. She sounds _exquisite._ I'm sure you'll be very happy in Wisconsin." Liz and Donald smiled pleasantly as Red turned to Artois. "They're thinking of taking up emu farming, Joseph. I told them you'd be _delighted _to show them around the place."

"Emu farming—really!" Artois declared with delight. "Well, you've sure come a long way to learn about it. There are many emu farms in the United States."

"Well, the emu is an Australian bird—and since we've always wanted to come here, we thought it would be a way to kill two birds with one stone," Donald answered.

Reddington laughed. "Probably not the best metaphor to use around here!" he said. "I hope to see you both tomorrow. Have a lovely evening."

"Good evening," Liz replied. "And thank you for the wine!"

Reddington looked her in the eye and smiled a soft, genuine smile. "You're welcome." He nodded at Artois, and his eyes grew harder. "We'll talk in the morning, Joseph. Good night."


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the delay… finally had some time. I don't own anything at all… there will be more Red in the next chapter.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"Everything Reddington said about missing children is true," Liz confirmed. She sat back on the bed and shook her head at the large number of files she had spread out on it. "Most missing children reports turn out to be nothing. But we still end up with too many kids who never get home."

"_One_ kid is too many," Ressler said, looking around the small, quaintly appointed room. "How many cases have you got there?"

"Over three hundred," Liz answered. "But I went back twenty-five years. I can't get over it. Some of these people would be married with their own kids by now…."

"Maybe they are. Maybe we just don't know about how they all turned out," Ressler supposed.

"Maybe," sighed Liz. She dug into the files and pulled one out. "Look at this—this is the oldest file we have. Nineteen eighty-eight. The boy was nine years old. Last seen walking down a street before a thunderstorm in Missouri. He'd be over thirty years old now, and there are still dozens of children who disappeared that year who have never been accounted for." She started sifting through the pile. "That's…"

Liz's voice trailed off. "What?" asked Ressler.

Liz looked up briefly from a photo she was looking at, then went back to reading. "This one," she said. "This…" She pulled the case sheet out from underneath it and studied it. "Oh my gosh."

"What is it?" Ressler asked again.

"This is Reddington's."

"Reddington's?"

"This case file. It's Reddington's daughter." Liz scanned the document, shaking her head as she read the circumstances of the disappearance, the details of what the authorities found, and what they believed. The more she read, the deeper her frown became, and the more her mind flashed images of Reddington's face at different points in their working life, and even more images of when they were not working at all—when he would come to find Liz, to warn her, to comfort her. She started feeling numb inside. "This is…" She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to process it all. "…awful."

"Sure it is," Ressler agreed. "Didn't you read his file? You're a profiler, for God's sake."

"I got a five-minute briefing when I was ripped out of my house on my first day on the job," she said pointedly. "After I was _trusted, _I was given his file, but all it said was that his car was found on Christmas of 1990 and that his wife and daughter had disappeared along with him," Liz replied defiantly. "But this…" she waved her hand vaguely over the file. "This… Do they think he _did_ it? Or that he ran _from_ it?"

"Don't know," Ressler shrugged. "I'm not sure _what_ that guy is capable of. All I know is they disappeared. My theory is that he made it _look_ like a crime scene and whisked them off somewhere to start fresh so they'd be left alone. He's great at making people drop off the face of the earth."

Uncertain what to believe, Liz tried to shake off the conflicting feelings of horror and sadness that were warring within her. She put the file down, and started gathering the others to put away. "We're due at the reception desk. Time to ask about emus."

"I still don't see how that's helpful," Ressler pouted.

"Yes, you do," Liz countered. "You just don't like that this is all Reddington's idea and that it's a good one." She stood up, put Reddington's file on top of the others and slid them all back into a briefcase. Then she put the briefcase into her suitcase, and locked it. "Now come on; and don't forget to talk up our daughter, Hannah."

"Right," Ressler agreed with a resigned sigh.

Liz's mind returned to Reddington's file, and then, determining to look into it further later on, she followed Ressler out the door.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"Are you planning to start with chicks, or with older birds?" Artois asked. He opened the gate to the separate fenced-off area and ushered them through. Ressler and Keen looked around and silently noted the two large buildings in the distance.

"A mix," Ressler answered. "We want to start breeding right away, but our daughter loves the chicks, so we thought it would be an easier transition for her if she had something to occupy her mind."

"Ah, yes, your daughter," Artois remarked. "Hannah, was it?"

"Yes, Hannah," Liz confirmed, shooting Ressler a knowing look. "She loves how soft they are when they're young. Maybe she can take one to school for show and tell—you know, something to make the other kids come around and get to know her. Baby animals are always good for that kind of thing."

"Agreed," Artois answered with a nod. "They are quite docile if they're handled from birth—but make sure your daughter always has an adult with her when she's holding one."

"Of course," Liz replied smoothly. "Do you have any children, Mr. Artois?"

"Joseph," Artois corrected with a smile. "I don't. But I have worked with them. Children are… very special. Capable of so much, but so certain they are invincible. They need to be watched."

"You're right," Ressler agreed, "especially our Hannah. She's always off in one place or another. It's all we can do to keep track of her."

"Sounds quite typical," Artois said, nodding. He scanned the large area, and then started leading them toward some trees.

"Would you like to see her?" Ressler asked.

Artois laughed. "Proud parents, eh?"

Liz tugged on Ressler's arm. "Dear, not everyone is as enamored with Hannah as we are."

"Nonsense! I'd be delighted to look at her. If she's anything like her mother, she's stunning."

Liz's smile stayed in place, but she could feel it weakening as her knowledge of what this man really did for a living penetrated her brain. "You're way too flattering," she said as Ressler pulled out his wallet and flipped to the planted photo of the girl.

"Oh," Artois said, shaking his head in admiration, "oh, this one's a beauty. Where did you say you lived now?"

"Arlington, Virginia," Ressler said, making sure his finger was not covering the school banner clearly in the background of the photo. "Nice little place in the Penrose neighborhood. Nice people. Everyone feels safe. No one even locks their doors half the time. We won't be moving for another six to twelve months—if all goes well."

"Beautiful. Really, just beautiful. She could have a film career. Take my word for that, I know what I'm talking about."

"Where are your birds?" Liz burst, trying hard not to strangle the man right now. "I thought they were friendly."

Artois nodded as Ressler put the photo away. "They are. But they're also smart. It's hot out. I'm heading for that cluster of trees over there—the only shade around. See them?"

"Oh—yeah." Liz furtively gestured to Ressler as they moved away from the buildings.

"What's in those buildings?" Ressler asked.

"They have stables they can go into if the weather is bad and they need protection. I know they're wild, outside animals but it's important to keep them safe. After all, that's how I keep my business going!" Artois answered. "There's feed, warm soft areas for sleeping… even a heater for the cold nights in the middle of winter. It doesn't snow here like it does in the US, but it still gets cold."

"Can we see them?" Liz asked. "I'd like to see what kind of set-up you have. We might want to adapt our own plans a bit."

"What are your plans now?" Artois asked.

"Uh—uh, we have a barn, but we haven't heated it," Liz faltered. "It was just…"

Ressler took over. "We thought they would be fine as long as they were inside. But we're absolutely willing to take advice from someone who's clearly doing it right."

"No problem," Artois said easily.

Three large birds suddenly started moving closer at what Liz considered alarming speed. She involuntarily took a step back. "Don't be frightened," Artois said. "Sally is just a bit on the friendly side. And she brings her two sidekicks with her. They always expect food."

"Food?" Ressler said, eyeing the birds warily. He tried to hide his astonishment as one bird, as tall as he was, raced up to Artois and pushed her head against his chest.

Artois laughed and pushed her away gently. "Come on, now, you know I'll give you what you want. Wait a minute." He drew some pieces of apple out of his pocket. "Sally loves apples. Here," he said, handing some bits to Liz and Ressler. You can feed Lumpy and Baby. Just hold your palm open." He saw Liz try and draw into herself as one of the large birds shook its wings and moved in, craning its long neck toward her.

"Stay still," Artois instructed. "Just hold your hand open."

With great hesitation, Liz did as she was told, and the bird reached down and effortlessly plucked the apple from her hand. Liz laughed lightly, her nervousness being released. "Wow," she said.

Artois nodded knowingly. "Go on, Donald; you try it."

"No, no, I don't—"

"Go on," Liz urged.

He did, and a crooked smile reached his lips when the other bird grabbed its treat and started making noises in its throat. "It's a very calming thing, working with birds," Artois said. "Even big ones like these. You must have spent some time with them already, haven't you?"

"Sure. Sure," Ressler assured him quickly. "We just haven't dealt with ones that are so tame yet. The ones we saw—well, they were pretty wild."

"Well, not mine," Artois said. He fed the last of his apple to Sally and patted her side to send her off, and they continued walking toward the trees. As they got closer, more birds approached and circled, following them, and when they got about twenty feet away from the trees, they were surprised when Raymond Reddington came out from behind one.

"Good morning!" he greeted pleasantly.

"R—Mr. Reddington," Liz corrected herself quickly. "You surprised us."

"You certainly did," Artois agreed. Liz tried to gauge Artois's mood with those words, but she couldn't get anything specific. "What are you doing out here, Raymond?"

"Coolest spot on the Ponderosa," Reddington answered smoothly. Liz noticed to her surprise that he wasn't wearing his jacket, a tie, or even his waistcoat. "And the company is _tremendous. _Have you told them about the Great Emu War, Joseph? It astounds me that people thought they should kill off these marvelous creatures." He stroked the neck of one bird that came right up to him, then pulled a piece of pear out of his trouser pocket and let the animal take it. He smiled as the bird pushed its head into him then walked away. As others took its place, he gave them all a treat and a stroke, smiling easily the whole time.

"No, I haven't yet. I might leave that to you while I give a school tour today," Artois said. "I'm just showing Elizabeth and Donald here the grounds. We're about to go to the stables. Feel free to come along," he invited.

"I think I will," Red accepted. "I'm going to be helping Joseph here with the books for awhile," he said to Liz and Ressler. "Streamline his business a little. Help him focus on what's important."

"Sounds like a good idea," Ressler said with a nod.

"Let's go," Artois said, now sounding a bit abrupt.

"If this is a bad time—" Liz began.

"Nonsense," Artois said, smiling. _A bit forced,_ Liz thought. "I've always got time for my guests."

"Why don't you let _me_ show them, Joseph?" Reddington asked. "I've been to the stables already; I'm sure I'd be a more than adequate tour guide. You can get on with taking the students through. After all, the children are of the _utmost_ importance."

Artois hesitated.

"Come now, Joseph. I thought after our little talk yesterday you'd be more than happy to give me open access to the place. I trust the transaction I conducted yesterday has reached its destination?"

Artois nodded. "Yeah, it has," he replied shortly.

"Then you know I mean business. Go deal with the school children. I'll take over. Maybe I'll even convince them to come back with their daughter Hannah—I'm sure she'd love to see the place," Red finished.

Liz noticed Artois paste on a smile on his face before he agreed and told them he'd meet them back at the main house in two hours.

Red watched with interest as Artois departed, absentmindedly stroking one of the large birds. "What transaction were you talking about?" Liz asked when he was out of earshot.

"I transferred five million dollars into his account yesterday," Red replied. "U S. At the moment that's about five and a half million Australian dollars. It's my buy-in to his operation."

Ressler nearly choked. "You gave him five million?"

Reddington smiled, amused. "A small price to pay to get in. But even so, the person whose account it's come from will have it back before he even notices it's been missing." Liz's and Ressler's eyes widened. Red ignored them. "Now," he continued: "the Great Emu War. After World War One, a lot of veterans set up farms on the fringe of emu territories in Western Australia. It should come as no surprise to anyone that the emus found the food supply most helpful… but the farmers did not."

"Why are you telling us this?" Liz asked flatly.

"You need to know something about emus, Lizzie. And what a great story to tell your friends!" Liz and Ressler exchanged hopeless looks. "Eventually the population grew to about twenty thousand birds. Wheat crops and other essentials were just impossible to grow. In 1932, the Minister of Agriculture convinced the Minister of Defense to give them some weapons to effectively kill off the area's emu population. It was a miserable failure. Almost ten thousand rounds were fired, and according to reports less than a thousand emus were killed." Reddington shook his head. "Terrible odds. I don't know how we won the war. Eventually the birds wandered off because the wheat was all harvested."

"Thanks for the history lesson," Ressler said with a touch of sarcasm. He shook his head. "These are the ugliest birds I've ever seen."

"Clearly you've never seen a cassowary," Red said. He started walking toward the stables. "What have you learned so far?"

"Besides that emus like fruit? Not much," Liz said. Red looked at her and nodded to acknowledge her dry humor. "We talked up our daughter Hannah, and he seemed very interested." She shivered inwardly at the memory. "He said she could have a film career."

"That's just as well, then," Red replied; "the girl in the photo is an actress."

"What do we do now?" Liz asked.

"I take you to the stables so you can look around and learn what you're supposed to know, and then I find out where his casting directors are… and more importantly, his movie stars."

"I thought you said he was going to show you his books," Ressler said.

"He is," Reddington answered. "But he wouldn't be a successful criminal if he didn't have a little larceny in him even when he's making a five million dollar deal. Joseph Artois hasn't made it this far by trusting people. Not even me. I'm going to have to try and create a little bit of business myself."

Liz's jaw dropped. "You're not going to take one of the school children here today and—"

"Of course not. But I'm going to convince him to add your daughter Hannah to his stable of talent. And then all hell will break loose."


End file.
